


we had it for a moment

by Antarktica



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Season 2, Secret Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vignette, dumb dorks in love, or not...that much of a secret..., soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarktica/pseuds/Antarktica
Summary: Mornings were usually so tiring.





	we had it for a moment

He saunters into the living room, fancying himself a cup of coffee. Honestly, it’s not much of a living room as he is rarely ever here but it’s one of those rare weeks where he’s on base. But of course, the rest of the ragtag family he (and May; he likes the way it sounds, but he can’t speak for her) built were still fast asleep. 5 am. The clock in the living room mocking him with its loud ticking.

  
His feet (and arguably, his stomach) leads him to the kitchen. His kitchen. But it was not without an occupant, a figure looms over by one of the counters, holding up a kettle. The small stature of a woman. The most lethal woman in S.H.I.E.L.D., making tea in his—their kitchen. He could smell the waft of green tea in the air and it makes him smile a little bit. It reminded him of the old days. _Good old days_.

  
They had plenty of mornings like this in their baggage. Mornings where their walls were down and it was nothing but vulnerability and camaraderie. Fearless, they were. There’s a song in his head that his heart seems to be humming to and it’s upbeat. Hopeful. The rhythm fastens as the figure became more obvious to him, he already knew who it was, but then, nothing sparked such a reaction out of him except for Melinda May.

  
She doesn’t look up from what she was doing, pouring hot water on her mug and walked over to the coffee maker. She had another mug in her hand carefully placed it there, in graceful pace and then turning around to his general direction. Her hair was left in a messy wave. She’d just woken up too, he guessed. The bed hair never made Melinda anything less than beautiful.

  
But she was smiling at him and he couldn’t say a word. Who would be able to?

  
“Can’t sleep?”

  
Phil got startled out of his reverie by the noise his mug makes when it hits the island counter. How long has he been gaping at her? He realizes she’s asking him a question, those lips seemed far too intriguing that it had been the past few days.

  
Melinda doesn’t give him a chance to speak and fills the silence once again.

  
“Sit on the couch with me, Phil.” She shrugs, sauntering over to the couch. He should follow. And he does, this is a really slow morning and he hasn’t spoken a word. He isn’t able to speak a word, it seems. He takes the seat besides Melinda like he always does, a little bit too close and contrary to the “platonic” refrain they had taken all these years. She was always so warm. And he liked her warmth.

  
He takes his coffee with him and sips on it, he’s not nervous. He knows that much. But a switch has been lifted.

  
Melinda’s looking at him like he just said something he shouldn’t be saying, but he knows he hasn’t said a word. He furrows his eyebrows at her. “What?”

  
“You weren’t speaking and you were making the weirdest thinking face.”

  
And if those faces made her smile like how she is doing right now, maybe he’ll do them a lot more times he’s warranted for it. He scoffed. She laughs at the face he makes. She laughs—these days, if they were fortunate enough, the room is filled even just for a second with the heartily laugh of Melinda May. Not all of them are that fortunate—they weren’t him.

Somehow, he made her laugh.

  
“No tai-chi?” He leans back on the couch, doing the same as Melinda is doing, but she’s so much better on it, perfect posture and all. He took her yoga offer back in the days; his flexibility just did not reach that point. She laughed at him then too, but then started using him as a living hang board when she wanted to work on her acrobatics. Pulling down people to the ground that was twice her weight or just default making him carry her on his shoulders and she’d have to do stretching exercises on him, as he rambled about Captain America.

  
“Finished already. Then I thought I’d make tea then I heard your footsteps.” Melinda remarks as if it was a normal routine. As if it was a normal thing to have his footsteps memorized (And he thought he had been sneaky quiet!). But then again, he can tell apart her being mad and just quiet. There’s a seething anger that lingers in the atmosphere whenever she’s mad—otherwise it’s just the tranquil apathy of her quiet.

  
Just two partners. Not reminiscing. Sipping on their respective drinks.

  
“I missed this.”

  
“What? Me making you coffee? I thought you liked me away from the kitchen.”

  
He chuckles. There was an unspoken rule, ever since that unfortunate day at the Academy, their poor shared room turned into shambles—like someone set a bomb off and thought it was cooking, to never let Melinda near a kitchen again.

  
“You know what I mean.”

  
She sips on her tea, nodding. “Yeah, I missed this.”

  
Phil takes a breath, reconsidering his next words, “I missed you too.”

  
“I said ‘this’.” Melinda doesn’t look his way. But he can see her incredulous expression.

  
“No, I meant, I miss you too, apart from our mornings like this. Just us, Phil and Melinda.”

  
She finishes her tea before pulling her legs up onto the sofa and turning to face him, not inching closer but still of close proximity. Melinda smiles at him. And he doesn’t need to hear her words. The smile was very telling of what she feels about what he said.

  
“You look stressed.” Phil couldn’t help but smile, if it were any other person, he’d feel so insulted. Melinda always had a way of lacing otherwise offending phrases with concern that he didn’t mind the prospect at all.

  
“It’s…” He trails off, she knows. Melinda always does.  
She hums her response, putting her empty cup on the small coffee table nearby. Melinda heaves a sigh that Phil rarely ever heard from her, unless she was doing breathing exercises. He observes that her shoulders seem more tense than usual, from then, he decides.

  
“Sit up,” He tells her as he stands up from his seat, walking behind her on the couch. Surprisingly, Melinda doesn’t ask him why and instead does as he says, as opposed to what she would do normally. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. This is what she deserves, at least.

  
“A massage, really, Phil?”

  
“You’re welcome.”

  
He feels her laugh bubble up inside her, holding her chuckle back and it was so very Melinda-like. Somehow, his fingers still remembered what to do, find her tension points and untie them. This was all too nostalgic for them. She stays silent throughout and even letting her guard down around him, relaxing under his touch.

  
“I owe you this one.”

  
Her sudden remark made him pause for a second on his ministrations. “I owe you a lot, you owe me nothing, Melinda.”

  
She placed her hands promptly on top of his, turning around to face him. “You seriously don’t want me to owe you a massage?” Melinda made a point to look him right in the eye, a challenging glint on her own. His own breath got caught in his throat. Melinda always drove a simple but hard bargain.

  
“-upon consideration, you owe me a massage.” He manages, going back to what he was doing in the first place. Phil discreetly keeps his fingers in place and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Though, knowing you, is there a catch?”

  
“Not this time.”

  
The last time was…he’d rather not discuss it. The summary was he had to beat Melinda in a spar, or at least catch her off guard. By the end of it, he was sure he needed a massage, either from Melinda or someone else.

  
(He was glad it was from Melinda though, it made him feel special then, and still does now.)

  
“Good. Because I don’t think my back can hold this time.”

  
“We had a really good mat then, they’re better now.”

  
Phil scoffs. “My back isn’t.”

  
“Oh, stop whining, Phil.” She taps his fingers on her shoulders and holds onto them for a moment. This was fleeting, this warmth between them, before the walls come up once again and they were Agent May and Director Coulson once again.

  
It makes him stop, it makes him want to lean down and do something reserved for short days and long dark nights. Something reserved for Glasgow. It almost happened in Sausalito, and then they thought twice. Glasgow was a different subject. And so was London.

  
(And so was Vegas…)

  
Melinda faces him once again and if he feels her lips softly grazing over his, then his mind is lost to the warmth. Maybe, he missed this most. A moment to themselves. _Selfish moments_. He lets his fingers trail to her cheeks and pull her closer to him gently. And when they part, he doesn’t want to open his eyes, afraid it’d be for naught and anything but a dream.

  
He feels her thumb rubbing his cheek gently and only then he opens his eyes, hopeful and tired.

  
“Nerd.”

  
And if her voice reminds him of better days—bodies tangled with each other; fingers intertwined—it shows on his smile. He holds onto her for a little longer, not allowing this warmth to pass them by.

  
And if he steals another moment—another kiss, well, he’s certain she wouldn’t chide him for it.  
Interruptions always came. Sooner or later.

  
Sooner, maybe.

  
It came in the form of an otherwise bubbly agent who wandered into the room with half-open eyes, that even Phil won’t refuse the fact that she promptly became their daughter now. Her tiresome pace took a turn when she’d noticed the two occupants of the living room, mouth gaping in shock.

  
Phil was thankful they’d parted in a pretty safe distance now, though, Skye was no rookie agent. She’d know something was going on. Even if there wasn’t, or even if it was over.

  
“—I’ll be on my way out now, clearly, I’m interrupting something—” Skye looked like her hand had been caught inside the cookie jar and yet, there was a glint to it that reminded Phil of when Melinda had no good intentions in her mind.

  
“Skye.” Melinda called out to the young agent in her commander voice. It stopped Skye in her tracks, empty mug in hand. “There’s newly-brewed coffee here.” She added, the tone of her voice sounding softer than usual, still unpretentious under the young agent’s gaze. He was aware his hands were still promptly placed on Melinda’s shoulders and each second becoming a burden to his self-awareness.

  
“Yeah…I saw but I’m interrupting a, you know— “Skye gestured in the air, in hopes her SO would just take the hint, until a few seconds passed and she just shrugged and walked to the kitchen, avoiding looking their way.

  
Melinda showed no sign of moving away from Phil’s grasps as he slowly finishes untying most of the tension knots on her shoulders. She was really intent on it be finished.

  
“Thanks, Coulson.” She gets up from the couch, tapping him on the shoulder, letting her warmth linger there for a moment before stretching out her shoulders. Melinda doesn’t leave the living room as she’d usually opt to and instead takes her and Coulson’s mug to the sink.

  
He had to sit down, so he does, unknowing his gaze just follows Melinda’s movements and doesn’t notice Skye taking the seat next to him.

  
“I don’t get you both.”

  
“Huh?” He turns around to face Skye who had a quizzical look written all over her face.

  
“See, even you don’t get it.”

  
He couldn’t get it because he didn’t know what he was supposed to even get in the first place.

  
“You and May. At first, I thought you two were secretly married but I’ve been around you two for two and a half years now, only today did I realize I’m stuck with the two biggest idiots in the planet.”

  
He heard this speech before. In a much more polite passive manner, that was Natasha. Then Maria which kind of went along the same lines as Skye did but she was drunk then.

  
“Skye, sometimes it’s just what it is.” He tried to play it coy. Well, he tried.

  
“And what it is, is that I can karate chop the tension in this room, AC.”

  
“I can hear you both.” Melinda turned around, already finished washing up their mugs, shaking her head at their general conspiring direction.

  
Phil just shrugs and Skye thought paying attention to her coffee then would be the best course of action.  
Melinda doesn’t sit on the couch with them, and instead beckons for Phil.

  
“Phil, come spar with me.” It was less of a statement and more of an order. He was the Director here but his feet think otherwise and already started walking to her general direction. He looked back, and saw Skye mouthing ‘helpless’ at him and he just shook his head.

  
“I thought it didn’t come with a catch!” He says when he’s by her side, eyebrows furrowed.

“I had to get you out of the interrogation chair. I don’t even get a thank you.”

  
Oh. “That’s—thank you.”

  
“Thank me later, _Director_.”


End file.
